


I saw the end before it begun (still I carried, I carried, I carried on)

by bxuttercup



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: /is targeted towards/supposed to be their actual person., ALL! PEOPLE! IN! THIS! FIC! ARE! THEIR! CHARACTERS! THEY! PRESENT! IN! DREAM! SMP!, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Dream Smp, Family Dynamics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, NOT! THEIR! ACTUAL! PERSON/STREAMING PERSONA! and in no way reflects, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phil just wants to protect his sons, Prophecy, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Snow, Swearing, Tags Are Hard, They're adopted family, everything is dying, freezing temperatures, it's that, like it's set in the dream smp universe before lmanberg and all that, sbi, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, yaknow fundy's apocalypse mod
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxuttercup/pseuds/bxuttercup
Summary: Any other day, under any other circumstance, Philza probably would’ve seen the koru designs of frost on his window, the snow piling high outside as pretty but as he stared out into their new life, only cold hard dread filled his stomach, weighing on it like a dead weight.--Foretold by a (now fulfilled) prophecy, the world that Philza and his sons, Techno, Wilbur and Tommy once knew had been replaced by a wasteland of frost and snow. Thrust into a new world and forced to survive without a helping hand the family must learn how to survive, or end, the apocalypse or die trying.orSbi and other characters from the DreamSMP have to survive/live in an winter apocalypses based off Fundy's apocalypse minecraft mod that is brought about from prophecy or find a way to end said apocalypse.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	1. I. ruh roh raggy it's getting cold

The snow was piling outside, covering everywhere with a heavy layer of white like someone was piling duvet upon duvet over the land. The air was freezing. Bitingly so. The cold dug it’s frosted claws into everything. The wood beams of the house? Freezing to the touch.

Phil pulled back the curtain of the cabin. The window was completely covered in patterns of ice swirled like korus, a quilted design of frost. Any other day Phil probably would’ve seen it as pretty but as he stared out into their new life, only cold hard dread filled his stomach, weighing on it like a dead weight. 

Everything outside was dying. Where oak saplings had once been, wither twigs now stood in their place, curling in on themselves as if they were trying to escape the cold. Phil almost pitied them. Yet in hindsight maybe a swift end like that would’ve been more forgiving then being forced to survive in an entirely new environment. One of only frost and despair. One where the cold was so chilling it was like death themself were pressing kisses to your bones, wrapping you in a hug. The tall dark oaks that had stood as guards, that had bordered and protected their cabins from any wandering traders desperate for his emeralds, or from anyone potentially wanting to cause trouble had had its leaves replaced with snow, all sense of greenery gone. Vanished in the white. Phil sucked in a harsh breath, the air clawing at the back of his throat with a sharp, almost numbing pain. As if, instead of breathing, he’d decided to inhale ice shards. Phil snorted in amusement to himself at the thought.

How poetic of him. Really, it was more like he’d eaten a metric fuckton of mints and drunk cold water afterwards. Just as painful, although less dramatic.

Phil didn’t appreciate how high the snow was gathering. He didn’t like how everything seemed to be dying. He didn’t like the way the sky had turned that dusty livid colour, covered in a haze of grey. Like a constant layer of smoke was covering the sky.

It was only mere days ago Phil was standing beneath the sun, soaking in the bright beams as Tommy scrambled around the grass, play fighting with a shrieking Tubbo. Wilbur had sat by his side, playing softly on his guitar. Phil had fond memories of that guitar, he’d taken Wilbur to the village for his birthday. His eyes had lit up like fairy lights when he’d seen the guitar. The villager had been kind enough to lower the price for them and Phil had handed over the emeralds without a second thought. He wondered if that villager was alright. 

As he pulled the curtain to a close again, not that it really changed the lighting in the room he wondered if Tubbo was alright as his attention drifted to his sons. They had all decided to sleep in one room, the one with the fireplace in hopes of staying warmer. He looked down at them now, illuminated by the embering glow of the fire. Wilbur was stretched out on the makeshift bedding and pile of whatever blankets they could get a hold of on the ground, his maroon beanie clasped tightly between his fingers. Phil had managed to convince the brunette to take it off inside lest they went outside in the snow and he would be used to the warmth on his head, inevitably making it colder when he stepped outside. Wilbur had told him he was grasping at straws. Phil had told him to take it off indoors regardless. Tommy, the youngest of his sons, was curled into Wilbur’s side. Stubbornly, the boy has insisted on wearing a t-shirt,

\- It’s not _that_ cold. He’d protested. -

and now, he was paying the price. His teeth were chattering as he shivered, burrowing deeper into the blankets as he stole warmth from Wilbur. The space where Phil had been sleeping moments earlier, the indents and warmth from where he’d laid had now been replaced by a stirring Techno. Phil couldn’t help the amused huff he let out as a fond smile graced his face. Techno would probably steal his grave if it was warm, it was no surprise, he was born in the Nether- born for the Nether. The overworld had always seemed cold to him when he’d arrived to be Phil’s apprentice. Even when the sun was beaming down at full velocity, they could be standing in a desert and younger Techno would still complain about being cold. Now, the hybrid simply enjoyed warmth and gravitated towards it.

Phil drifted like the falling flakes of snow outside to the front door, clamping his hand around the cold metal of the door handle as he winced. Needles of {cold} stabbing him. Opening the door he was met with a mountain’s worth of snow. It would probably reach his knees, maybe just above them if he stepped outside. And Phil wouldn’t call himself a short man by any means.

Thoughts ran circles in his head as he shut the door to prevent the biting air from chewing at him anymore. He could feel the chill far past skin level, it was as if the cold had completely forgone that part of him and instead had decided to chill him straight to the bones. The snow had only slightly seemed to be slowing, and while that could be called somewhat of a victory, pure anxiety still gnawed at Phil’s stomach. The dark gray of the sky blocked any light of sun through it. No chance of melting. The biting cold of the air would kill someone out in it for too long, and it only seemed to be getting colder. Worst of all, everything was dying. 

“You know, you really shouldn’t let the cold in.”

Philza turned at the sound of the monotone voice, not at all surprised to see the sight of his eldest adopted son standing before him. His pink hair, still messy from sleep.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“You absolutely did.” Techno paused his speaking to give way to a yawn, approaching Phil with a mug of some steaming liquid. “I could _almost_ feel the anxiety radiating off you.”

The piglin hybrid handed the ceramic mug down to him. Instantly, as Phil took the mug, his fingers curled around it, the heat sending shock waves throughout his hands and warming them to the core. Almost too hot. As he brought the mug to his lip Phil recognised the drink. The aromatic smell of ginger tickling his nose as he took a swig. A pleasant warming sensation coursing throughout his body and curling in his stomach. Like the colour of fire was licking at his insides. Ginger tea, he confirmed.

“We need to move,” Techno’s voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt or anything resembling hesitation.

Phil raised an eyebrow, still holding the mug to his lips. Letting out a quiet hum so Techno knew he was listening.

“The snow is getting higher, and it’s only the second, third?-”

“Second,” 

“-Second day of this. It’s getting colder. At the very least we should move somewhere sheltered for the time being, and move north, to the coast. ” Techno’s ear twitched as he spoke, his breath curling and spiraling into the air above as he did. “ _If_ this all blows over, we can always come back down here but until then, moving is the better option.”

Phil nodded. Almost hesitant when he spoke. “Isn’t that a bit drastic of a move, mate? It’s just a bit of snow.”

Techno gave him an almost indecipherable look. One of confusion. One of concern. As if Phil wasn’t aware of the sheer danger that lingered mere footsteps outside the door. The two of them were silent, cerulean staring into vermillion. Complete contrasts until Techno has to look away.

“You’ve heard the prophecies the same as I have Phil. I think we’re well past ‘a bit of snow’.”

The silence grew heavy and thick between the two of them. Techno was right. In the many trips to the village Phil and Techno has shared, warnings were constantly shared with them. Deciphered through Techno who could actually understand the villagers native tongue. The tellings differed but all started and ended the same. 

They began with the spilling of crimson blood by a hunter’s hand. The thump of two bodies hitting the ground, one with cracked, bloody goggles atop his head and the other, a once flowing white hair band, since soaked some garish shade of crimson with blood. A heart breaking wail of grief, loud and strong enough to shatter the sky. A vengeful god. Then, ending with an endless winter. One where snow piled high and never melted. The sun remained bleak through a dark sky and everything slowly died, shriveled to pieces.

Phil swallowed hard at the memories of the tellings. Surely not. They were nothing more than stories, ones to discourage hunters who searched the villages looking for the hybrids and golden men alike to kill. To protect the people who wore the marks of gods. To protect the gods. The stories were the only reason people stopped disappearing into the End, trying to slay the beastly god Phil had heard was dragon-like in nature. The world was foretold to fall into never ending darkness if she was to die. No traveller had dared to visit the End since.

Yet a single glance outside at the swirling snow, Phil couldn’t help the unease that built in his stomach.

He nodded, tapping his fingers against the mug. It was suddenly scorching to touch. Hot, too hot.

“Give it a day,” 

At Techno’s sharp intake of breath and incoming rebuttal, Phil raised a finger to silence him as he continued. 

“We’ll collect everything we need from around the house today, make sure everything is secure, everything to keep us warm. Then, we’ll leave tomorrow and,,,” Phil drifted off, raising an eyebrow at Techno.

“Move north, towards the coast. It’s warmer over there naturally. Maybe the snow hasn’t reached there.”

“Maybe it never will.”

\-------

Phil pulled sharply on the strap of Tommy’s bag, ignoring the complains of protest that his straps were completely _fine_ long and Phil was just being dramatic, his shoulders won’t ache _that_ bad as they walked. Yesterday had been chaotic. Him and Techno had waited until Tommy, and then eventually Wilbur had awoken before explaining everything to them. The plan to move with assurances, mainly directed at Tommy, that they’d return when the snow cleared and this wasn’t a forever goodbye. He stood back from Tommy, ruffling his hair despite the boy’s protests. Standing there, he could see all three of his sons standing before him. Everything useful they’d own had been packed into bags and shared among the four of them, Techno was the heaviest and Tommy with the lightest. A typical backpack felt uncomfortable on Phil’s wings and as much as he despised it, for once in his life cursing at his wings, he’d been forced to forgo a typical backpack in place of a messenger bag. It wasn’t really that big of a deal, they couldn’t fit an extra coat with the size difference but it was enough to make Phil’s stomach twitch with anxiety. Techno had managed to scavenge a nearly destroyed tarp and tied it around his bag, in case it started snowing whilst they walked. Phil was acutely aware of how dangerous simply, getting damp could be. He gave all of them as much as an assuring grin as he could muster. Lying to them as much as he was lying to himself. He had no clue how things would turn out out there. He had no clue if they’d all be dead by morning but as he turned from the door to study his sons once more. Cold, hard determination settled in his stomach.

In that moment he made the decision that no matter what happened out there, he would always protect his sons. Wilbur and his dopey grin as he swiped overgrown chestnut curls from his face, smiling despite the clear danger they faced. Tommy and his fiery, undying attitude and loyalty as he let out a sharp remark from curled lips despite his smiling blue eyes. Techno and his smile with toothy tusks jutting from his bottom lip he returned Phil’s with, despite the undoubtable anxiety that was coursing through his veins. He would protect them. Even if it killed him.

They were ready. 

Him and his boys.

His stomach still churned at the thought of Tubbo, somewhere out there in the cold. Of whether he was safe or not, and sparing a glance at Tommy whose fingers were now curled to his mouth, undoubtedly tearing at the nails that lined his fingers. He could tell his son was too.

Phil’s resolve only strengthened.

But enough delay. Gloved hand met the door handle and the door was pushed open. Beginning the start of their new life.

The snow glared at him. Pure white and daring. Challenging him.

And Phil glared back.


	2. II. don't worry guys, it gets colder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---
> 
> Tommy, Techno and Phil stood mere feet away from him. Each of them watching as the flakes made their graceful and slow dance down from the sky. The snow’s bolero turned into a quickstep in the blink of an eye. The final thing he saw was Phil’s smile at him, a wave for him to come closer to them.
> 
> \---

Had five years ago you’d told Wilbur that ‘hey, you and your family are going to be thrown into a snowy wasteland and forced to survive it all alone’ he would’ve laughed directly in your face before checking you into the nearest mental institute for a check up. 

Had five years ago you’d told Wilbur that ‘hey, you have to wade through knee deep snow because your home may as well be drowning in it and for your only chance of leaving the snow’ he would’ve given you a strange look and kept walking.

Wilbur didn’t do prophecies. He knew how Techno and Phil believed in them. How they listened carefully to the village prophets, the village elders for their warnings. Sure, Wilbur respected them but he saw them as they were, nothing but scare tactics. Stories to discourage people from killing the world they lived in lest they got too big for their britches and took on more than they could handle. Wilbur let out an annoyed huff, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets to bury them away from the burning cold. He’d only spoken to the prophets of the nearby village once. When he was about eight. No taller than waist height. He’d accompanied Phil, tagging along with. His intentions were probably to steal some cookies from an idle baker that Phil would inevitably go and pay back, or raxx a few emeralds off of Phil to buy whatever caught his eye, whether it be a bar of gold or a stick. Instead, he’d been given a guitar. White as ivory. As snow.

A villager had come and sat beside him as he strummed at the guitar. Fresh and untouched. 

“You play well, boy.” Their accent had been thick and their words stumbly. In the land of the Dream SMP there were many languages and Wilbur had beamed. He’d never met a villager he could speak to before. Sure, they could’ve communicated through expressions, the tilt of the head, the rise of an eyebrow but there was something about the idea of verbally communicating that had brought joy to young Wilbur’s soul.

“Thank you.” He’d stopped playing, bobbing his head up and down at the praise before looking up and grinning when the two met eyes. “I got it today.”

Their interaction after that had felt like a blur. A mish mash of strummed music and stumbled words. To be honest Wilbur had mostly forgotten it, but one thing he never forgot was the prophet’s eyes. They were green in colour. Hooded and rheumy in appearance. But both those factors were nothing compared to the intensity of them. They had stared at Wilbur with sharp certainty. Like his eyes were secretly emeralds sharpened into daggers. As Wilbur heard his name called by Phil, he’d stood only for the man to grab his wrist with a surprisingly harsh grip, the man wasn’t weak by any means despite his sickly and frail appearance. Skin sagging around his face and cheek bones stabbing out.

“You, my boy. Be careful.” The man had let go of his wrist, only to have pushed a piece of parchment into his hand and pulled Wilbur’s fingers so they curled around it. The cream parchment was thick and smelt of vanilla and mildew. Wilbur had pulled his hand back, shoving it and the parchment deep into his pocket. His heart screaming at him that it wasn’t something to lose while his brain screamed to run. “Your blood is worth more than you’ll ever know.”

Phil had called his name again and Wilbur had sprinted. Guitar in hand as his feet thumped with alarming speed against the cobblestone pavement.

The thing that brought Wilbur back to the present was a hand on his back and a sing-songy voice. “Wilburrrrrrrrrrrr. Anyone home big dubs?”

Wilbur snapped out of the memory, his thumb running over the velvet crinkled edges of the parchment in his pocket. He huffed, raising an eyebrow at the smaller, blonde boy. Not that calling him smaller was any proper descriptor, almost everyone was shorter to the siren hybrid. “What?”

“You went all blahhh, and I was talking to you but you stopped listening.”

“You pulled me out of my rather amazingly delightful thoughts so I could hear you complain about how cold it is for an extra twenty minutes till I inevitably zone out again?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile crossing his face as Tommy puffed out his cheeks, narrowing his eyes to give Wilbur a rather pointed look.

“I would never, my stories, even my complaints, are only worth the time of cool people, and women.”

“Uh-huh, sure they are.”

“Dick.” Wilbur watched as Tommy ran a hand through his hair, puffing it out. He almost winced at the sound it made. It was almost like the strands themselves had begun to freeze together, jamming together like oversized sardines in a tiny tiny can. Silently, Wilbur pulled the beanie from his head and rustled it over Tommy’s, smiling ever so slightly in return at Tommy’s smile. They were silent for a few moments before Tommy perked up again. 

“Actually, what I was going to say to you was that Phil wants us to keep an eye out for any nooks or crevices we could stay in for the night. Says he can feel the snow coming or something like that, something something settles on his skin. I wasn’t really listening.”

With a promise he would keep an eye out, he bid farewell to Tommy with a hair ruffle, watching as he bounded forward up to Techno through the thick snow. Akin to some gangly long legged rabbit frolicking in a new meadow field. Wilbur would be lying if he said the picture wasn’t amusing. As Tommy began rattling off to Techno, undoubtedly retelling the piglin the same news Wilbur tilted his head up to look at the sky. His eyes followed his swirling breath that seemed to disappear into the untapped darkness of the sky. It was almost beautiful. The purity of crystalline white snow coming from a completely corrupted sky. Some metaphor of hope arising from even the darkness. And then the snow started falling.

He blinked in surprise, recoiling on instinct when a frosted flake landed on his nose. Melting immediately on impact. Looking around, other flakes were falling. He watched through narrowed eyes as Tommy seemed to hop on the spot, extending a hand as the flakes fell. Tommy, Techno and Phil stood mere feet away from him. Each of them watching as the flakes made their graceful and slow dance down from the sky. The snow’s bolero turned into a quickstep in the blink of an eye. The final thing he saw was Phil’s smile at him, a wave for him to come closer to them.

But it’d happened so fast. Soon, Wilbur’s entire vision was a sheet of white. Flakes whipped across his face, leaving stinging marks as if he’d been slapped. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t fucking see. Everytime he blinked. Or swiped the snow away from his face. White flakes still confronted him on the other side.

“PHIL, TOMMY, TECHNO-” He stumbled forward, shouting into the now completely white void. He wasn’t sure if his voice got lost in it. Did his voice get lost in it? The cold battered him. Digging its claws in, even through his thick jacket. It looped it’s way around him. Tugging at his limbs with cold. His nose. His eyes. The moment a snowflake graced him with its presence, he felt a burn mark arise instead. 

“WILBUR.” A voice called out to him. He felt himself turning in circles as the voice called out to him again. There was no direction. Nothing. Only a nameless voice as he spun in a helpless circle, seeing nothing but the same blank white he’d faced whenever starting to write a new song. The white he’d imagine he’d face at the entrance to whatever afterlife followed this one.

The voice called to him again and he called back. Ignoring the way the cold ripped at his throat when he opened his mouth. It could be worse. Wilbur thought to himself. I mean, there could be wind.

And then the wind started.

There was no hope once the wind started. It worsened everything tenfold, an opinion Wilbur had held before this snowy apocalypse had broken out. But match with the snow, his statement had never been so true. He’d thought the white void earlier had been bad. He’d thought the lack of sight and the burning of the snow earlier had been bad. 

The wind made the white void move. Like static. It made everything look like it was constantly swarming. It made the snow slap him across the face repeatedly with a burning hatred Wilbur thought could only be brought about by pure fire. When he screamed for his family, it made his voice disappear into the wind. It made walking hard, Unbalancing him at every turn.

Yet Wilbur still walked. He still yelled. If he was anything, Wilbur was determined. A stubborn, determined fool.

Each step felt like a move against quicksand and gale winds. Every moment out there felt like he was trapped in a burning nether of ice. 

He yelled and yelled. But the voice never called back again.

\- - -

Wilbur didn’t know how long he’d been walking for, but in his time walking. Walking in some random direction the snow had eased up. 

Every movement he made felt sluggish. Slow. Like his limbs had been replaced with water soaked concrete dust. His shivering grew weak as he walked with crossed arms, pulling his sleeves close to him. Nails digging into his jacket arms. His eyes were fixated on the ground, the way his boots trudged through the snow and his leg sunk into the cold till it was knee deep.

“Hey!”

At the voice, Wilbur lifted his head. In the distance there were two figures. One tall and the other far shorter in comparison. Wilbur couldn’t make out their faces but he was sure they were staring. He lifted a hand to wave, feeling the ground give way beneath him. Catching a glimpse of the silhouettes for just long enough to see them rush towards him as he collapsed in the snow. The world corrupting to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> If you enjoyed please consider donating to: https://ko-fi.com/bxuttercup  
> I have extremely bad anxiety that leaves me unable to get a job and I really need to save for university. All donations help!! I also take one shot requests through the donations at the moment, provided I am comfortable with the request. It's 100% alright if you can't! I hope you enjoyed regardless.  
> Thank y’all for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello, ty ty for reading this chapter of a fic idea I got simply, watching Fundy's mod video. YeAH, hope you have a good one.  
> funfact the most used letter in this chapter was the letter E


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